


With A Girl Like You

by clexa



Series: The 100 Femslash February [2]
Category: The 100 (TV), Warm Bodies - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, F/F, Warm Bodies AU, like this is literally warm bodies except its femslash (so its 5x better lbr)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 10:11:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3286469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clexa/pseuds/clexa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven's spent her death stumbling around an airport mall, gnawing on the occasional brain. So this <i>feeling</i> thing is kind of new to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With A Girl Like You

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Day Two - Apocalypse/Dystopian AU  
> This work was inspired by the book/movie "Warm Bodies." You don't have to have read or watched either but you'd probably enjoy it more. This is currently a oneshot but I am planning to continue it fully. I just wanted to get it up for Femslash February :)  
>  **Warning for mention of blood, dismemberment, and overall zombies eating people.**

I don’t remember what living was like but I know it must have been better than this.

I don’t sleep now. There are some that close their eyes and shut down.

They don’t wake up.

I spend my half-life in an airport mall, staggering through the halls with an added limp. There’s a blue brace on my knee and it impairs my brainless walk but when I took it off with clumsy fingers I couldn’t get back up. So the brace went on, not nearly as neatly as the first time, but it does the job.

Some point and jeer at it and then I pull their index finger off. They stop wheezing at me after that.

I exist in a shed in the hangar amongst gears and wires and bits I pick up when we hunt. There’s another here, in another shed, who hobbles around dumbly with a smirk perpetually on his face. I don’t much care for him but sometimes he tinkers and makes things the same way I do.

To the rest of them, making is a lost art. So I allow him.

There is no hunger anymore, not that I feel. There are many who act like it, who clutch their bellies and holler until there’s a large enough group to hunt. They think they crave blood and flesh but I know better.

It’s the brains, the memories that light up your head the way the cinema screen sometimes flashes on with little clicks. They last a long time. I don’t go until my head stops hurting.

Now though I feel empty and numb. I holler amidst the hub of activity that is hundreds of us bumping into eachother mindlessly. One by one they join my side, bloodlust awakened with my call.

We limp off the tarmac and into the city pavement. Derelict building lights flicker and a plastic bag drifts across the empty road. We follow the _feeling_ in the air, the remaining bit of our brains honed to sense life. I let the others lead and watch listlessly.

We’re approaching a bland white office, glass windows towering high. The crowd is more excitable now, drugged by living cells. They jostle each other in the race to clamber up the stairs and into the building.

Now we go faster. I feel my bones grow less weary with the promise of life. We have lost our limps and we close in. There are four, five, six heartbeats at least. I can hear them pound faster as they hear our scrabbling.

Shouting and gunfire and we are upon them. The dead at the front lunge and we follow in waves. Some are struck down by bullets. Our brains are only alive when it counts, and these living know it.

I hobble slower after two on a desk. It’s a boy and a girl, the latter pushed back to the wall, even as she struggles to move out from the boy and aim her gun. A few others have sighted them, too, and are rising at them. There are bullets ricocheting wildly around me, and some of the dead are falling, but we are still warring.

I reach for one of the boy’s ankles and the girl screams. Their guns are both pointed at my forehead but the boy’s gun is devoid of bullets and the girl’s shot only clips my neck in the dark. I tug insistently.

Another seems to have caught on with me. We grip an ankle each to pull him to the ground. The girl is crying, trying to shoot through her tears without light. We pay her no mind.

One bite to the jugular and the boy is dead. I grimace – the blood is slippery and metallic on my lips. I smear it with a palm and pry open his skull to his brain.

The other dead moves to get a share and I growl at him. He seems to reevaluate and resumes his gnawing elsewhere. Satisfied I won’t be sharing, I take a little bite.

_I’m dancing with the girl. Her hair is long and golden and braided back with flowers. She wears a white dress and a wide smile as I dip her, and she’s back to twirling. She giggles and raises a hand to brush the hair from my eyes._

_“Clarke,” I feel my lips move._

_Clarke is looking at me intently. Her eyes are blue and soft and they are looking at my lips._

_She says “Finn.”_

_And then she is kissing me – Finn. She is kissing Finn._

I come back to the world with Finn’s brain clutched in my fingers. The dead to my right is content with an arm and has scooted away to the corner. Above me, muffled sobs still ring out.

Pocketing the evidence of Finn’s life, I wipe my face on the back of my hand and shakily stand. Clarke notices, pointing the barrel of her gun at me.

I flail my hands wildly, raising a finger to my lips. Clarke squints and wipes her face.

I move tentatively closer. Her breath quickens, cells singing to me. I shake my head and lean in, pressing the palm of my hand to her gun.

“Keep you safe” I slur, though it comes out a garbled mess. Clarke cocks her head and scoots back farther.

“Clarke” I say. “Clarke.”

She understands that.

“You know my name?” she asks incredulously, too loudly. I clap my hand over her mouth. That goes over even worse – she starts shrieking.

Some of the dead tilt their heads away from the carcasses and to the noise. I pull Clarke down off the desk and onto the floor until we’re crouched down.

“Shh” I tell her, removing my palm. Clarke quiets but shifts nervously.

I reach my fingers to my neck where Clarke shot me and coat them with blood. It’s not enough, but I paint it across her chin anyway. She rears back with revulsion.

“Alive” I explain impatiently, gesturing at her. “Keep you safe.”

Clarke steadies. She looks away while I reach for one of the fallen and use their blood to cover the scent of her life. I can still smell it on her, but the others will think she’s just new.

Most of us don’t bother to make new dead; not enough control. But it happens accidentally, and they won’t think enough to question it.

The dead are starting to rise with limbs to bring to those who don’t hunt. I tug Clarke to rise and she steps after me. I shake my head violently at her and lean in close.

“Like – this.” I show her my stagger and point to her. She catches on, stumble-walking after me.

After hunts we separate, so it’s no stretch to believe I might be guiding this fresh dead. Clarke has released her grip from her weapon and hangs the gun over her shoulder, but she still looks wary, snapping her head this way and that. I push her on, moving faster than the others and guide her around the mall to the hangar.

It wouldn’t do to bring a living into a hall of the dead.

So we stumble to my shed, where I close the door on the face of the smirky dead.

Clarke slumps against a wall for a moment, but the fire in her eyes resumes.

“Did you bring me here to eat me?” she accuses.

I shake my head.

“Keep you _safe_ ” I enunciate.

Clarke scoffs.

“Safe in the middle of a zombie den. Sure.”

She must catch my incredulous look because she’s hacking another laugh.

“Alright zombie. How are you going to eat me? Make it fast?”

I shake my head emphatically.

“Not eat. Keep you safe.”

Clarke eyes me. She loosens the grip she has on her gun, but leaves her finger on the trigger.

“So if you’re not going to eat me, what are you going to do with me?”

When I look at her blankly she sighs.

“What’s your name zombie girl?” she prompts.

I ponder this. Identification doesn’t matter anymore. We can’t read. Names are of no use to us.

“R” I tell her finally, because she’s looking at me expectantly and because the consonant sounds right off my tongue.

“R” Clarke repeats, and I nod.

“Okay, R. I kinda need to get home. That’s where I’m safe.”

“Keep you safe!” I tell her excitedly.

She nods wearily.

“Tomorrow” she says. I dip my head in acknowledgment.

“R” Clarke says, “If you’re going to eat me while I’m asleep, make it fast.”

She closes her eyes before I can protest.

I watch her.  Clarke’s head is slumped back against the wall of the shed. Her blonde hair is bright in my shed. I think idly of Finn’s brain.

Carefully withdrawing it from my pocket, I take a bite, hungry for memories of Clarke.


End file.
